Big John's Beef Jerky

The jerky pushers puzzle us. Yes, all the True Believers, the Willing Sacrifices, the Kill-Me-Nows, the relentless martyrs—every self-peddling beast puzzles us. But for some reason, the pre-jerky animals (along with the pre-rinded pigs) just baffle us and give us the shivers.

There's something about the time investment implicit in the jerky-making process. Big John knows it's not simply a matter of killing himself and trusting that he will make it into the waiting mouths of his superiors. He has to rely on a more extensive procedure. There's the defatting, the marinading, the seasoning, the dehydrating, and the packaging. It'll be a while between his sweet death and his sweeter consumption, which is sort of a superdeath, the irrevocable made thoroughly unimaginable.

He has to be completely committed, and that level of certainty is a little off-putting.

One other thing strikes us about Bovines Who Would Be Jerky. As far as we can tell they are almost always hyper-masculine characters. Take the Rosie's Vermont Beef Jerky spokesjerk—the burly lumberjack we met almost five years ago. These animals are the manliest of the manly: muscle-bound, tuxedoed, boxing gloved, or bedecked in backwoods plaid. Like the foodstuffs they are destined to become, they are tough. Whether this reflects the aspirations of the jerky consumer or the essential nature of the animals in their benighted (i.e., living) form, we can't say.

Murray's Chicken

In the two and a half years since we last looked in on the trend of hobo livestock, things haven't gotten much better.

High unemployment, strained finances, and frayed safety nets have all taken their toll, and the "food" animals are bearing the brunt.

No longer can they count on the same sty-to-slaughterhouse, coop-to-throat-slitter care their fathers received. No more can they take for granted the security enjoyed by previous generations. It's every chicken for herself now, and many are forced to make hard choices. This representative from Murray's, for instance. Like so many who preceded her, she has taken up her bindlestiff and hit the trail.

Who knows what she'll find around the bend? We know what she hopes for: an untimely, economical death. We can only hope.

National Barbecue News

What Scoop here won't do to get the story!

Traffic jams, the high heat of summer, sciatica acting up? Nothing will stop him. If there's an event involving dead pigs, he'll be there. With his notepad and anachronistic fedora and press card, he'll be there. To inform, entertain, and sell, sell, sell!

This is not the journalist-as-muckraker model you might remember from the Watergate days. This is more of the bought-and-paid-for PR-shill model.

Scoop isn't driven by the dream of overturning the system, of exposing the abuses of the pig-killing industry. No, he's there to promote it.

You can just hear him interviewing a source:

"What's that? How many ribs will you be moving at this here celebration? 300 slabs? Soo-wee, that's a lot! Smells good, too. You say this is the finest barbecue in three counties? Can I quote you on that?"

The Local Grill & Scoop

Animals and the desire to leave it all behind go together like fish and ice cream!

This fish hugging his ice cream dish (if that is, in fact, what it's doing) is a perfect example. Instead of clinging to life, the fish clings to its favorite dessert... receptacle. Is that even what's going on?

All we really know is that the fish has something else on its mind besides a quick flop back into the water and the possibility of resuming a normal life.

(Thanks to Dr. Joanna for the referral and photo.)

Suicide Snacks: quickies 9

When the lengthy sermons are too much, we turn to our by-now-classic series of rapid-fire diatribules for relief. (Revisit the most recent installment, won't you?)

You tell 'em, duck! What, do those tofu-munching hippies think they're too good for your repulsive liver or something?




The swiggin' pig of Nashville, Tennessee doesn't do anything halfway. He lives life at full throttle, sometimes spending seven, eight hours a day down at the local tavern. And he dies full tilt, too.








A shrimp crossed with a Segway? It's the cuddliest version yet of half-animal/half-machine monstrosity.










Yes, yes, it's not about meat. It's a rare example of dairy-related business. Still, it's remarkable because it's like the cow's innermost thoughts and feelings will not be repressed. The cow's undeniable gratitude at being used shines out, through bone, muscle, and hide.

Septemberfest Wild Game Cook Off

And here you thought only those effete playthings, those (snort) domestic animals, dreamt of self-annihilation. We've told you over and over that it's all animals! From decadent livestock to the beasts cursed with boundless freedom, all the animals long for the end.

Take this rugged fellow. Fresh from the forests that team with abandoned creatures, his coat still redolent of Nature's neglect, he made his clumsy way to the bright lights of civilization.

There, to tend the grills, to hold aloft the savory morsels bequeathed by the proud animals who have already succumbed to their dearest desires. And one day—dare he dream?—he might find himself upon those dutiful tines.

Percy Pig

Have we been living under a rock for the past 15 years or so? We didn't think so, but how else to explain our complete, happy ignorance of the Percy Pig phenomenon?

The pink stalwart is not only the spokesman for a candy popular throughout the United Kingdom (in a recent year, the candy makers raked in more than $15 million)—he's also an ingredient. The standard variety of Percy Pig candy contains gelatin of specifically pig provenance. A version prepared without pig gelatin was set to be made available earlier this month. We assume Percy will endorse this suspect product as well, but only out of contractual obligation.

And it's more than candy. It's toys, socks, sheets, calendars, books, and on and on! What does it say about the hungers within the British bosom when a pig known principally for his eagerness to donate the collagen from his own skin and bones can launch and sustain such a merchandising juggernaut? (A Facebook fan club reportedly has upwards of 200,000 members.)

We already know what it says about Percy. It says he's suffering from the queasy-making combination of over-weaning self-esteem and abject hopelessness so common (it would seem) among the world's "food" animals.

(Thanks to Dr. Liz for the referral.)

Quality Semen Tanks

"I finally have my own little bundle of joy product! Thank you, Quality Semen Tanks!"

So says Mrs. Cow, we can only assume, on cuddling her newborn for the first time.

She knows what lies in store for her offspring. She knows that for a she-calf, it's a life spent voluntarily offering up her milk and her own offspring. For a he-calf, it's most likely an adorable processing at the hands of hard-working vealsmiths.

Which is why she's so pleased with the product line at Quality Semen Tanks. Because that's what makes it all possible. The fulfillment of her too, too brief motherhood. The succession of babies dedicated to milking and vealing operations. The peace that comes from knowing her place. All of it concentrated in her love and gratitude for sturdy, well-made semen tanks.










Addendum: An outfit called Goode Cattle uses the same mom-and-baby graphic on their website. They go one better (or one stranger, at least) by using this one, too, which looks for all the world like a cow in love with a Millennium SC20 semen tank. Perfectly understandable.

Beaux Hawg BBQ

It's called the Good Life, all right?

A martini, a fine cigar. Good food, good friends. And when the good food is the good friends, so much the better.

The good pig is an instant archetype, a down-home bon vivant. He smiles at his own good fortune, shrugging in lieu of explanation.

After they've experienced everything life has to offer, they'll hoist themselves onto the barbecue. Indeed, today is a good day to die.








Addendum: Yes, sir. From Kansas to Florida, the good pig is living it up, for the time being.

Special Report: Pig Logo Exposé 11

We're ready to dive back into the world of recycled pig logos. Review, won't you, the last time we indulged our inexplicable penchant for RPE (Repetitious Porcine Emblemology).





























































































(From left to right, by row: Lillie's, Northwest Tennessee Battle of the Pigs BBQ & Car Show, Get Your Pig On; Gourmet Grills, Holy Smokes BBQ Festival, In Hog Heaven BarBQue; Shawn's Smokehouse BBQ, Que-by-the-Sea, Pork U; BBQ Pit Boss, Louisiana State Championship Bowie BBQ Duel & Festival, Microwave Pork Puffies; Greet American BBQ Tour, Bixby BBQ 'n Music, BBQ Bonanza; Eagle BBQ Cook-Off and Spudfest, Giggly Pig BBQ Team, BBQ Throwdown.)

The hallmarks of the breed are the burly forearms and intricate nostrils. True, some examples of Burly (as he is hereby designated) are missing those two f-hole nostrils, but all appear to boast forearms of Popeye proportions. He also always (so far!) sports a bandanna or an apron. Unless those are overalls. It's clear that somewhere in his evolution, Burly split into two variants: the elbow-on-the-bar glad-hander and the dimwitted cowboy.

We'll be watching this one.

Addendum (12/16/11): And here are Burly specimens #19–22.

Don't think this is actually Burly? We admit it's not a perfect example of the form. But look at the curlicue nostrils. Never forget the curlicue nostrils.

Bacon is the New Black

Naturally, this T-shirt design is associated with an earnest, high-end butcher.

The studied attitude of cool, the nod to fashion—these mark the modern, artisanal dismantler of carcasses no less than they mark today's pig.

And just when a gluttonous nation's obsessive and forced-smile-hilarious dedication to bacon was becoming tiresome, the enterprise is rescued by a pig who's given up on living.

The pig knows it temporarily houses this generation's It Meat, and he capitalizes on it. But remember, pig: You don't own bacon; you borrow it from your butcher.

Txoko

Around the world, every tongue tells animals the good news: The end is nigh! Your sentence is almost done! You will soon leave the state to which your nature condemned you—petty life. (Bah!)

In this case, the language is Basque, and the animals have heard the call. They have put on their smartest clothes. Their little jackets, their little caps. The pig has even put on his little wings. Or maybe he got a head start on the death?

Anyway, they're dying or ready to die or freshly dead in their little corner (which is what "txoko" means in Basque, though it also refers to a type of restaurant, or something—we confess we're past caring).

This isn't so much ceremony for the soon-to-be-former "food" animals, as it is a formal occasion, an opportunity to go out with a bang, to say good-bye at last to life (bah!) with dignity. Everything about the image bespeaks dignity and status and rectitude: the coat of arms, the crown, the clothing. These aren't barnyard animals, after all, dumb brutes who wait around to get killed. No, these two seek it out, like they would a cunning investment or fortuitous employment prospect.

(Thanks to Dr. Erika for the referral and the photo.)